


Look Honey! Ducks!!

by musicaltrash_24601



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: A little bit of violence, Also Javert's name is Pierre, Cosette loves her dads, I wrote this for a friend, Javert loves Valjean, M/M, Modern Era, a quick drabble that definitely turned into something more, passing mentions of Fantine, that's just a dumb headcanon tho, valjean loves javert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 08:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13994820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicaltrash_24601/pseuds/musicaltrash_24601
Summary: Javert plays an innocent pranks that goes horribly awry, thanks to Valjean's clumsiness.





	Look Honey! Ducks!!

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh, Fantine's kinda mentioned in this? Kinda a "blink and you miss her" thing. Anyway, this is post-Seine, post-barricade, and a modern fic. Enjoy!

Javert smiled as the computer's desktop background changed to a duckling. Jean Valjean, his lover, had always loved animals; however, he'd held a special fondness for ducks in all the forty years Javert had known his lover. 

“Javert, quit sulking and join us!” Valjean called from the kitchen. A soft smile flitted across Javert’s lips and he stood, leaving the laptop open. “Cosette's been taking too much after you and sulking when you're not here.” 

At that, Javert laughed. “Mon cher, she's your daughter. How can she take after me?” He teased, leaning on the kitchen doorway and staring fondly at the scene before him: Cosette and Valjean, each covered with flour and wide smiles on their faces. “I see you two have been busy.” The policeman raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. 

Javert believed in looking one's best for their job and took great pride in his appearance. Valjean was exactly the opposite, messy and wild, but somehow still groomed. The two men appeared to be polar opposites to the outside viewer, and in many ways, they were. Valjean was an ex-criminal, while Javert was a policeman. Javert admired the shining stars and the faraway galaxies and Valjean coaxed delicate flowers and powerful trees out of the earth. 

“We made cookies, mon étoile,” Valjean replied, winking at the man, who blushed furiously at the compliment. Neither Javert nor Valjean were young by any means, and in the forty-odd years they had known each other, he still hadn't grown used to the endless stream of pet names and compliments from Jean. 

Javert reached out a hand to the man, who took it and pulled Javert close. Javert wrinkled his nose as flour dusted over his clothes. It wasn't his uniform- thankfully- but they were still Javert’s favourite sweatpants and t-shirt. “I like these clothes,” he grumbled. 

“Oh, hush and let Cosette feed you a cookie,” Valjean muttered back, smiling down at the girl. Her normally golden blonde locks looked more platinum with the flour, and she eagerly held out a cookie for her father. 

“Merci, cel mic,” Javert murmured, slipping easily between French and Romanian. Javert normally didn't use Romanian, but often made the exception for Cosette and Valjean. He took the cookie and took a bite. “They're good!” Said the man, glancing up in surprise at Valjean, who simply smiled in return. 

“Do you really think so, Father?” Cosette chirped, smiling widely. She had just turned twenty, and was about ready to head off to college. Both Javert and Valjean’s faces split into wide smiles. They cherished the little time they were able to spend with her, since she would be gone soon.

“Of course I do, Cosette.” Javert ruffled Cosette’s hair and she giggled. “Why don’t you and Papa go watch a movie? I’m sure there’s something on that you both could enjoy. I’ll start cleaning up. But change clothes first. I don’t want to see a speck of flour on my couch.” 

“Our couch!” Valjean called, chuckling. Javert could almost hear Valjean’s laptop opening and he smirked. A huge gasp of delight and Javert’s smirk widened and he chuckled.

“Pierre! Look at this duck!” Jean cried. A scuffle of feet as Valjean hurried to the kitchen and Javert stepped into view only to see-

Valjean gasped as he hit an antique table. Their apartment had been around since about the time of the French Revolution, so it was expected to have a few problems, and Javert had always meant to move that table... 

The table crunched under Valjean’s stocky frame and Javert could hear the shattering of a computer and… something else. 

“My wrist!” Valjean exclaimed, dropping the ruined computer. He cradled a broken wrist in one hand and sucked in sharp breaths of air. He was quickly going pale, Javert noticed. Shock, he thought.

“Valjean? Valjean, look at me,” he said, placing a hand on the man's cheek gently. “Look at me, love. I've got you. We've got to go to the hospital. Cosette can stay with Toussaint.” 

Valjean nodded shakily, leaning into Javert’s hand. “Cosette, dear, grab your emergency sleepover bag. You're stay with Madame Toussaint. I'm going to drive Papa to the hospital,” Javert said gently to the girl who was watching from a doorway with wide eyes. 

“But will Papa-?” She trailed off and sniffed. There were tears in her eyes, and she blinked to push them away. “Will Papa be okay?” She asked softly, finishing her question. 

“Papa will be fine,” Javert said gently. Satisfied with Javert’s answer, Cosette scurried away and reappeared a moment later with a small duffel bag. “Do you have everything? Yes? Good, I'll take you down stairs .”

Javert placed a hand on Cosette's shoulder. “Jean, don’t move anything until I get back. It should only take a few minutes. Now Cosette, remember to be on your best behaviour for Madame Toussaint…” 

Cosette scoffed. “I am twenty! A fully grown woman!” 

“And I am older than that. Suck it up and go to Toussaint’s,” Javert snapped, leading the girl away.

\--

Valjean listened as Javert’s voice faded away. He was left alone with a broken wrist, table, and computer. He was saddened by the loss of his computer, considering he ran a company on there. 

He hummed to himself, trying to soothe his frayed nerves. “Please hurry, Pierre,” he whispered, cradling his arm. Just as he said that, Javert burst back into the apartment. Valjean startled, his old convict instincts rising again. It was just like Montreuil sur Mer again; when Javert had burst into a hospital where the recently deceased Fantine lay. 

“Pierre!” Valjean cried, relief flooding him. “Oh thank god.” 

Javert, a man of few words as always, hurried over and helped Valjean up. “We have to get you to the hospital,” he grunted. “I can't set a broken wrist.” 

“I love you,” Valjean whispered. He smiled fondly as Javert turned bright red. “My beautiful star.” 

\--

“Shut up, you sentimental fool,” Javert grumbled. “We have to go.” 

He helped Valjean out to the car, securing him safely in the passenger seat. “Be sensible and don't do anything to your broken arm.” 

\--

After about ten minutes, the couple arrived at the nearest hospital. Javert parked the car, turning his gaze to Valjean.

“How are you feeling?” He asked quietly. 

“I'll live. I've been through worse, star,” Valjean murmured. “You and I both know this.”

Valjean was referring to the time both men had spent in Toulon prison, the time they had encountered each other at the rally held by college students, and the time he dragged one of those students through the sewers of Paris. 

Javert winced at the mention of Toulon and the barricades. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead shut it and gazed down at the floor of the car in shame. 

“Come on, Jean. The sooner we get your wrist fixed, the better.” He opened the door and walked to Jean's door. He held it open for the man and refused to meet his gaze. 

Valjean pursed his lips. Perhaps old memories were being stirred up. If that was the case, Valjean couldn't let that happen. 

\--

It was 1975, and Valjean had just been released from Toulon prison. He had arrived in 1955, at the age of 19. He was now 39, and just as strong as when he entered, maybe stronger. 

“Do not forget my name! Do not forget me, 24601,” a voice snarled. A much younger Javert, about 28 years old, stood in front of Valjean, glaring up at him. 

\--

Valjean grunted as he shouldered the boy, Marius. He was crawling through the sewers in an attempt to avoid the rest of the violent rally. 

The students had never wanted the rally to be violent; it was simply a peaceful protest of the government. Instead, soldiers had shown up and shot down almost all of the students. 

“Marius, stay with me,” he gasped, grunting as he slammed his shoulder against the gate. It was rusted, and crumbled easily under Valjean’s impressive strength. As he stumbled into the clean fresh air, he glanced up and sighed. 

“It's you, Javert. Hello again. Listen-” 

“I told you! I won't give in, so just hand the boy over!” 

“Inspector, please. Just give me another hour. Then I'm yours.” 

Valjean noticed the curious flush that spread across Javert’s face, even in the dim light of the moon. 

“Fine,” he snapped. “Let me call an ambulance and get him to his house. Who is this?” 

“Marius Pontmercy.”

“Baron Pontmercy’s grandson?!” Javert cried. Valjean nodded, smiling slightly. Javert sighed. 

“Jesus Christ, Valjean.” Valjean gently set the boy down. “What the hell?”

“He is in love with my daughter. I cannot let him die and hurt her in the process.” Valjean crossed over to the still-bloody inspector and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Please, try and understand.”

Javert had just finished barking orders into his cellphone. He froze when he felt the broad palm of Valjean come to rest on his shoulder. “Look, Valjean… I… Just get outta here. If the ambulance gets here and sees you, who knows what'll happen?” He gently ducked away from the hand on his shoulder. “Get outta here.”

Valjean smiled. “You are a true friend, Javert. I can't express my gratitude.” He turned and fled, glancing over his shoulder only once. 

\--

Javert took a shaky breath as he helped the Pontmercy boy into the ambulance. He sent it off with instructions to tell the baron where his grandson was. 

He was still shaken up about Valjean’s statement. It rang in his mind like a bell: Just give me another hour, then I'm yours. 

He took a shaky breath, climbing up to the bridge. Javert contemplated the recent events, staring out at the rushing waters. 

“Holy fuck,” he breathed. Javert was in a deep pile of shit. 

“Fuck!” He yelled again, tears beginning to fall. “What's left in this godforsaken world for me?! Everything I know has been skewed!” 

Javert didn't know who he was talking to, but it was as if the stars he once admired were gazing down. He turned his eyes skyward, shakily climbing up on the bridge railing. His coat flapped in the wind. Javert reached out a hand, slipping forward. His eyes slid shut and he accepted his fate

“NO!” Valjean’s voice forced Javert’s eyes to snap open. He gasped as a strong grip caught the back of his coat. “Not on my watch, Javert! I won't have you dying!” Valjean cried. 

When Valjean had pulled Javert back over the wall, both men collapsed. Javert began to sob, clutching onto Valjean desperately. All Valjean did was rub Javert’s back soothingly. 

“I've got you, Javert. It's alright,” he whispered. And for a moment, Javert was content to believe that. Here in Valjean’s arms, he felt safe. He felt loved. It was… it was a feeling he hadn't felt since he was young. He was dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness. 

“Valjean… I- I love you,” he whispered, finally admitting to himself and Valjean that he loved him. 

\--

About five years later, Valjean slipped a ring on Javert’s finger, smiling widely with joyful tears in his eyes. “I love you,” he whispered as Bishop Bienvenue declared that the two were now legally married. 

Cosette laughed joyfully as she was twirled by both her fathers on the dance floor. “Papa, stop!” She shrieked happily, clinging to Valjean as he twirled them both recklessly across the floor. 

Javert’s dance was slower and more refined. “Thank you, Dad,” Cosette whispered, holding onto him tightly. “You've made Papa so happy, and you mean the world to both of us.”

\--

Javert was snapped out of his reverie by Valjean’s gentle voice. He glanced over to the man. 

“Star? Is everything okay?” Valjean asked softly. 

Javert turned a gentle gaze to Valjean and he smiled. “Everything is wonderful, my dear,” he murmured, taking Valjean’s uninjured wrist and leading him through the hospital doors. 

 

\--

After a doctor had looked at Valjean’s wrist and put it in a cast, she recommended they stay for the night. Both men thanked her profusely but she smiled and waved it off. 

“It's the least I could do for Monsieur le Maire and Monsieur l’Inspecteur,” she said quietly. With that, she was gone. 

\--

Late at night, two old men held each other tightly, murmuring sweet nothings as their hands roamed, as their legs tangled, and as their soft little laughs barely carried past the bed. However, one phrase was constant. 

“I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, hello, this is a new thing. I recommend listening to the "Love Like You" cover by Dan DeSimone while reading this. It's really cute and I can imagine either man singing it. Just a suggestion :)


End file.
